Drunk Daddy
by sugarapplesweet
Summary: The bottle can be a dangerous thing, and yet there are still times when you find you've run back to it for comfort. Simply can't put it down. For Dan, it's the scar from taking on another's guilt despite having more than enough of his own to cope with.


**Author's Note:** My first mature piece... and it's a song-fic. I've hit a new low! XD

Seriously, though, I can't even explain why I love this song since it tells the story of living on the lower end of society with an abusive alcoholic as a step-father. However, the Cherry Poppin' Daddies sure know how to play some crazy ass swing tunes, and there wasn't a song more perfectly suited to what I've always imagined Dan's early life must've been like.

Please enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Harvest Moon or its characters nor do I have ownership of the song _Drunk Daddy_ which belongs to the Cherry Poppin' Daddies.

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**Drunk Daddy**

_Mamma married a big asshole._

_Whiskey bottles on the floor._

_He just keeps on watchin' TV._

_Step-child tired of being poor._

It's not like I wanted this rotten life, you know, but I guess you take the cards you're dealt. Too bad the dealer gave me a hand with a fat bastard and his glassy eyes instead of a king. He just sits there in his ol' easy chair, laughing as a man get his brains shot out on the local newscast. They didn't edit out the security cam's screen image of the blood that spattered the window which isn't all that surprising when you consider the media's belief that gore sells the story. Dying for less than fifty dollars in the 7-Eleven's cash register where you've been working the night shift for the past ten years, only to have some jack ass with a pot-belly and a beer in his hand find your final moments more entertaining than the infomercials he's been watching for the last hour and a half...

Yeah, that's _just_ how I want _my_ life to be remembered.

Somehow, though, I have a feeling that's how it's all gonna end for the likes of me. There's nothing else for a young man to do, especially one who grew up on _this_ side of the tracks as he scraped together whatever he happened to find on the streets. Let me tell you this... times is _hard_, sir.

And it ain't gonna be gettin' any better, either...

_Kitchen smells like rotten garbage._

_I can't chew my food; my face is sore._

_Momma didn't come home last evening..._

_Neighbors say that she's a whore._

Who would've thought it, eh? Sure, Mum tarts herself up a bit around eleven as she lacquers her lips with a shade of red that would make Marilyn envious. Not to mention she goes struttin' out the door in a sheer tank, black bra optional, and a denim mini with a pair of boots she could lace right up to her bruise-riddled neck... She's just goin' to have some drinks with 'the girls,' of course.

Kinda have to wonder who she and those ladies are workin' for these days...

I know that there's no way in hell it could be Scat pimpin' that bitch out since I've been goin' his way for months now, and I'd know _damn_ well if I'd seen my own mother in that boarding house of his down on Hopson. After all, I'm a regular, and word gets around to _all_ the ladies when it comes familiar face such as my own... especially if he can help them enjoy what they do for a living. It's hard to please so many needy women at once, of course, but I do what I can before my wallet bleeds dry for the night.

Just give me a couple minutes and I can keep the kittens purring and yowling for more... Guaranteed.

_Some folks never want for nuthin'_

_I'm a worn out hand-me-down._

_Stupid rich kid gets me angry..._

_Lord, I'm gonna cut him down!_

That smug grin of his was always plastered on his pasty, white face. _Someone_ had to add some color to it one of those days... I'd always thought that maybe some crimson would help him look a little healthier, or perhaps he just needed some black to match those baby blues that narrowed every time he saw me. Whatever it comes down to, I had _just_ the right tools to make the magic work on that disaster of a child; no charge, of course.

Couldn't be having him offering to fill someone _else's_ pocket, can we?

'Now... what'll be, dear sir?' I'd wanted to ask him in a voice to match my ironic smile, just as sweet as you please. 'We've got quite the selection,' I would've told him with a slight chuckle to lighten the mood, 'so just take your time because I'll be ready when you are~ Can't make a decision? Well, how about you just tell me this then...' I offered, grinning like a clever cat. Or perhaps a sly fox would've been a more apt description... 'A switchblade or a fist?' I was probably being overly generous... I couldn't help but give him the two for one sale. He was right about one very important thing, I must confess.

He _did_ deserve everything that came to him.

_Now I'm grown up, same old story._

_At twenty-one, I fell in love;_

_She left me just like the others..._

_Jesus, why you curse my love!_

She'd sit on my lap like the good girl she truly was, snuggling up next to me and taking playful nips at my neck, while I slammed down the beers one after another to help her suit my fantasies. Don't get me wrong. She _was_ damn cute with those big, brown eyes of hers, but I needed a _woman_ to fulfill my needs, not some little trick who wanted to belong to a bad boy. What can I say? The school girl's uniform only has so much appeal before I need something else to look at... My interest in her was all about the treasures to be found _underneath _that plaid skirt anyway, and dammit, that's exactly what I was going to fuckin' _get,_ too_._

The only problem was that she didn't know it as well as I did.

It didn't matter how much she'd plead and beg for me to stop... because I knew I wouldn't. Even if I considered the possibility, the need would still desire fulfillment, and living out on the street, you learn to satisfy your hunger.

Eating a decent meal or eating her, there really wasn't much of a difference in the end, and like the dog that I am, I had to have it by any means necessary.

_Drunk daddy broke my fingers._

_Drunk daddy done kicked my head._

_Drunk daddy smashed my sister._

_Turned my whole world red... blood red..._

How could I forget that night? My sister's screams pierced through the night, only drowned out by the crashing of the bottle that met with her head. The liquid crimson that seeped out and matted her rich, dark chocolate curls... the gasp that escaped her parted lips as she slumped to the floor... Those were the memories that haunted me now although I did my best to rid myself of them.

Despite my best efforts, her dull eyes still pleaded with me even after I've closed my own.

She hasn't woken up for past few nights while the blood stains her bedroom floor, still tacky to the touch... but I know she'll be alright. This isn't the first time he's cut her up this bad... and I've dealt with more or less the same myself. Mum stitched her up well enough for me which means it's only a matter of time before she comes back around. Even though my fingers are held together by nothing more than medical tape, I know they'll heal as well, despite being a bit crooked.

Just have to wait it out...

_I haul the burden for the high and mighty,_

_But I'm the top hat devil's son._

_I got the luck of the drunk, try an' nail me._

_I'm the bulls eye- aim your gun!_

Baring my chest to the world, I know that life's nothing but a game of Russian roulette. It's just another gamble to bet your money on. When you _do_ lose it all when the stakes are high and your adrenaline even higher, like I've become accustomed to, at least you'll die knowing you don't ever have to take the risk again. If you have the lucky bullet, it's all over once the trigger is pulled, and then you can finally lay your head back and rest for a while. That's why you play in the first place... because it's that once in a lifetime chance to end it all.

You see, _that's_ what we're all hoping for.

If only I could be the one to get the single bullet to the head, I might be able to find a better place. Sure, it might be just as shitty, maybe even worse, but at least then I'd know how good I actually had it before I threw in the towel a day too early. Would I really know, though, if it wasn't just my time to go in the first place? After all, whose to say that it wasn't fate that put that slug in my right temple when I decided to play the game. Was it really _God_ that I was trying to surpass in accepting that challenge. Am I so great that just by holding that gun in my hand, I have chosen to play God? How can that be, though...

...when there is no God in the first place?

_Yesterday they shook your hand boy,_

_Now they're gonna stab your back._

_I can hear their sickening laughter..._

_Sneakin' in like a siamese cat._

Men like me always have to keep ahead of the game, whether our life is on the line or not, because you can only trust yourself in the end. When it all comes down to it, we are each our own maker. Just as soon as we can build ourselves up, we can bring ourselves right back down with a single misstep, and yet we'll be sure to blame someone else for our faults. Even God couldn't help accusing man for making the mistake when he himself was the one to create an imperfect being.

That's why I freely admit to being a no good piece of shit in the first place.

Here in my hand is a long-neck bottle... and on that bottle, there is a label. Although the letters are blurry to me now, with my _good_ eye at that, I can still remember what it read. It's nothing fancy... just a bottle of cheap vodka, but I know damn well what this shit can do to me. Maybe I just don't give a fuck anymore as I tip it back one last time. Now all I can do is wait for my inner demons to rise and consume me along with the throbbing pain. Thus far, it's the closest I've gotten to actually _living..._ that I can recall at the moment anyway. That doesn't matter, I guess, since that one swallow is the end of tonight. Even then, I know it's only over because that's all that I had left in the bottom.

All the rest was guzzled before the shit even got started...

_Back stage in the club bathroom,_

_A graven image on the wall._

_I'm about to get my vengeance._

_Lights go down in the hall._

Shit. That was all I could manage to think as I did my best to pick myself up, only to come falling back to earth. He was coming... and I had no where else to go. My mind was sluggish, drowned in liquor, while I dragged myself across the floor and struggled to get my sorry ass into the tub to try and hide. It wasn't going to protect me from the man, but I figured it could always be my coffin.

It'd probably be the closest I'd ever get to a decent final resting place, knowing that cheap bastard.

It was nothing but a waiting game with every heavy footfall and tick of the clock while the drunkard made his way towards me with slow, yet deliberate, steps. How many bottles did that bastard have? Even though I couldn't remember at the time, I knew it was more than enough to help him kick my sorry ass all over the place tonight. I knew I deserved it, too, since I wasn't worth much of anything. In the end, we were the same... he and I. We'd both been drinking ourselves to ruin simply because there just doesn't seem to be anything else we _could_ do these days.

People like us never got ahead...

_You gotta move fast to beat the devil;_

_Your arm is too short to box with God._

_Big shadow in the doorway..._

_He's not going to spare the rod._

Just as he tore the curtains down and ripped the metal tubing from the wall, I could only brace myself from the blow I knew was gonna strike. The sweat rolled down his balding head, and although it was blurry through the mist that had fallen over my already drunken gaze, I could still see the rage in his eyes, black as coal. I knew he blamed me for his own damn misery because I was the bastard son, the one that wasn't even his to begin with, but I wasn't really the one at fault for his failure, was I. He could beat me, cuss me out, throw me in the fucking _street..._

But I ain't the one who fucked up.

_He _was the one who drank himself to ruin... _He _was the one who married my trampy bitch of a mother... _He_ was the one who knocked me and my sister around all this time. It was only now... that I wouldn't take his shit anymore. I made my mistakes, but I wasn't going to make up for any of his. That's why I had to say it even if I knew he couldn't hear me. I had to say it for myself.

"Okay, Dad, you can beat me, but you'll never _beat_ me!"

_Drunk daddy broke my fingers._

_Drunk daddy done kicked my head._

_Drunk daddy smashed my sister._

_Turned my whole world red... blood red..._


End file.
